Interdimensional Toothpaste
by Doctor Song
Summary: Harry should have known better than to touch anything belonging to George Weasley. Even toothpaste. Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Obviously, anything recognisable belongs to JKR.  
_

* * *

_In the general vicinity of somewhere..._

Harry stumbled into the bathroom of George's Diagon Alley flat and blearily inspected the contents of the cupboard above the sink. It had been a long night and a particularly unpleasant awakening and all he could think of was getting rid of the small forest of _bleaurgh_ that seemed to be growing on his teeth.

"Oi, George, can I use your toothpaste?"

They'd gone out to the Leaky Cauldron for a few drinks to celebrate Ron's graduation from the Auror training program and a couple of quiet glasses of firewhisky had sort of turned into a couple of bottles of firewhisky with some karaok_e_ on the side. Wisely, they'd decided that apparating home was something only a lunatic would do, and as Harry had flatly refused to use the 'green flames of death' after his seventh firewhisky, they'd finally ended up staggering the few hundred yards to George's flat instead.

George waved a hand in the vague direction of the bathroom from the cocoon of blankets, clothes and shoes visible through the bedroom door and mumbled something incoherent in reply. Taking it as a 'Sure mate, help yourself,' Harry closed the door and picked up one of the tubes of toothpaste that had fallen out of the cupboard, laughing to himself as he heard the unmistakable sound of George waking up and falling out of bed.

He conjured himself a toothbrush and had just put brush to teeth when George burst through the door in a flurry of clothes and limbs.

"Harry! Whatever you do, don't use the.." He looked down, voice trailing off. "..red one."

Harry stopped, toothbrush in mouth and gaped at George. "Wha...?" He lowered his eyes to the very red tube of toothpaste his hand and back up to George, who was now staring at him with an expression which sat somewhere between horror, guilt and sincere apology.

"What's wrong wi..." His reply was abruptly cut off as he felt the world around him contract and expand all at once and saw George's bathroom tilt and blur in a blast of unusually minty fresh air.

"..th the red one?" The question rang out into the dead silence of the Ministry atrium as Harry, toothbrush and all, landed on his arse beside the fountain.

He looked up.

And stared.

And shuddered.

And stared some more.

Staring back at him from underneath his customary lime green bowler hat was the familiar face of Cornelius Fudge. While this sight would, on an ordinary day, have been cause for some distress, it was the matching cape and horrifyingly tight lime green spandex jumpsuit that produced an expression of horror and utter incredulity on Harry's face.

Even worse, he couldn't bring himself to look away.

He suspected the image would be seared on his brain no matter where he looked. Nothing else around him could be traumatising or unusual enough to eject that vision from his brain.

Well, that's what he thought, right up until the moment he found the strength to tear his eyes away and focus on the rest of his surroundings.

"Oh holy sweet fucking Merlin."

There was no hesitation this time. His eyelids slammed shut instinctively, acting on some ancient sense of self preservation faster and stronger than his conscious mind.

He couldn't have seen what he thought he'd seen. It shouldn't be possible.

There had to be universal laws against that sort of thing.

It must have been a side effect of whatever George's toothpaste had done to him. Causing horrific hallucinations. The stuff of nightmares. Something like that.

He gathered his courage and cracked one eyelid open, peering through his lashes like a child confronting his worst fear.

"Argh."

He squeezed his eyes shut again, trying fervently to think of quidditch, Ginny, vanquishing Voldemort, something, anything, to take his mind of the tableau in front of him.

But it refused to budge from the back of his eyelids.

Cornelius Fudge, in a cape, flanked by Dolores Umbridge and Rita Skeeter in alternating pink and green sequined bikinis.

And only bikinis.

There weren't enough swearwords in the English language to verbalise the awfulness of that sight.

'Oh my, you look like a naughty boy. Popping into our lord's way like that. What _are_ we going to do with you?" A sickly sweet voice penetrated Harry's horror addled senses, involuntarily causing him to shudder as parts of his mind connected the voice with the image etched on his brain.

Thankfully, the sound of an approaching crowd, yelling and fighting and most definitely screaming, drowned out whatever else she was going to say, and Harry risked opening his eyes just in time to see the unholy trio of..._something_...apparate away in a cloud of glaring pink and green glitter.

He found himself staring again.

"You alright, mate?" A pair of strong arms reached down and picked up him up, resting him against the edge of the fountain as another pair of hands checked his vital signs.

"He's just in shock. He'll be fine." That was a woman's voice, calm and soothing.

The first voice sounded serious. And familiar. "Are you sure? He got a full eyeful. You know what effect that usually has."

"Not this time. He's tough, this one. C'mon kiddo, let me have a look at you."

Harry looked up then, straight into the concerned faces of a strange witch in Healer's robes, and an unusually made up Bill Weasley, whose expression quickly morphed from concern into confusion.

"Harry? What? How'd you get here?"

Harry blinked. "Bill?" His eyes shifted from Bill, to Bill's makeup, to the cloud of glitter slowly settling on the Atrium floor and back to Bill's makeup, before he voiced the one question on his mind.

"What the fuck is going on?"

* * *

_A few worlds away..._

George Weasley stared at the patch of minty fresh air currently occupying the space in his bathroom that had, not five seconds earlier, contained the person of Harry Potter.

"Shit."

* * *

_A/N: Um. I've no idea if this works, so please review. There was this toothpaste ad on tv, you see, which claimed to be so good it could blast you (or just your mouth, I really can't remember) into another dimension. I started thinking about what that would actually be like, and, well, here you go. _

_So, tell me what you think? _

_Louise.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Obviously not really mine. _

* * *

_A bathroom, in a flat, in an alley..._

"Ron! Get in here!"

Ron Weasley skidded to a halt on the bathroom tiles, grabbing onto the doorframe to stop himself crashing into his brother.

"What's going on?" He glanced around the room. "Where's Harry?"

George slowly closed his eyes with all the solemnity of one about to deliver grave news.

"He's gone."

"What do you mean, he's gone? Where'd he go?" Ron sniffed the air suspiciously. "Why does it smell so much like toothpaste in here?"

George scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, well, about that..." He avoided Ron's eyes. "I've sort of been working on making a kind of toothpaste that can cross dimensions and Harry might have sort of accidentally activated it and disappeared..."

Ron stared at his brother. "You what?"

* * *

_Some way away, in a strange reality..._

A very confused Bill Weasley was also staring.

"What do you mean, what's going on? How the hell did you get here? You're supposed to be in Switzerland. And when did you start wearing glasses again?"

Harry knew he looked like a fish out of water. Really, where was he supposed to start? All he'd wanted was clean teeth and instead he'd been subjected to images even Voldemort would have blanched at.

There are some things that are just wrong, no matter who you are.

"Wha? Switzerland? When did I _stop _wearing glasses? What the fuck was that...that...with the glitter and the sequins and...the..oh god. I'm dreaming. That's it. I must be. George laced the toothpaste with some kind of potion and I'm sleeping. Just dreaming or hallucinating or something."

He considered the fact that George must have been the one to craft these particular hallucinations.

"God, he's a sadistic bastard."

Bill, whose brow had furrowed at the mention of his brother, interrupted. "Harry? I'm pretty sure you're not dreaming."

Harry looked up. "I'm pretty sure I am. Anyway, you would say that, wouldn't you? You're part of the hallucination."

"Um, no. This is real." He pinched Harry's arm.

"Ow. That means nothing. I've felt pain in dreams before."

"You have? What? You're not supposed to be able to do that!"

"Well, I have. So there. Stop pinching me!"

"Look! I don't know how you managed to get here, or why you seem so different, but you're not dreaming! I'm real! You're real! That.." He pointed to the still settling glitter, "..was real! Unfortunately."

Harry's tone became indignant. "What do you mean, I seem different? You're the one wearing make up! When did my subconscious – or George's- start imagining you in eyeliner anyway? I mean, it kind of suits you, but still. It's a bit of a shock."

Bill's expression was becoming more and more frustrated. "Right. Something's wrong here. You mentioned George. Maybe he can convince you you're not dreaming. C'mon. He's at the Burrow."

Harry looked skeptical, but got up anyway, toothbrush and paste still in hand. "See, I am dreaming. What's he doing there?"

"Eating, probably."

Harry got up, figuring if it was a dream, he might as well just go along with it. "So? He can eat anywhere. Shouldn't he be at the shop?"

"What shop?" was the last thing he heard before Bill grabbed his arm and apparated them both to the Burrow, toothbrush, makeup and all.

Harry stumbled as he found himself outside the Burrow in the afternoon sun. "I hate side-along," he muttered under his breath. Straightening up, he stared at Bill again. "What do you mean, what shop? His shop. You know, the famous one? Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes? Oh, _come on._"

Bill looked totally lost. "Nope. What shop?"

Harry shook his head. "Bloody stupid dream. Right then. What's next, pretty boy version of Bill?"

Bill looked even more lost. "What? Oh, bugger this. Let's go find George."

"Oi, Ron," he said, walking into the Burrow, "have you seen George?"

"Yeah, he's upstairs with...Harry? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in Switzerland? And why are you wearing glasses?"

Harry couldn't help himself.

He stared.

"Ron?" he choked out. "Bloody hell, George is twisted."

The familiar face of his best friend was peering at him inquisitively out of a definitely unfamiliar curtain of long red ringlets while his arms steadied the leather clad and somewhat dishevelled person of Pansy Parkinson in his lap.

"Hiya Harry," she said brightly, making absolutely no attempt to disguise what they'd just interrupted.

"_Excuse me_," Ron exclaimed in an extremely un-Ron-like tone of affront, as he slid his hands back up Pansy's top. "Stop staring at my girlfriend, Potter. Stop staring at _me_, for Merlin's sake."

"Wha?" Harry rubbed his eyes vigorously.

He risked another glance.

Ron's hands had now left a substantial amount of bare flesh in their wake and he'd evidently decided to ignore his brother's presence, as his face was currently in distressingly close contact with Pansy's.

"Argh. My eyes. Oh god, my eyes." He walked over to a spare patch of wall and started banging his head against it, muttering what sounded to Bill like his brother's name interspersed with an impressive collection of swearwords.

Unsure of what to do, Bill grabbed Harry by the arm, pulling him upstairs and away from the spectacle on the couch.

Hearing the voice of George behind one of the doors, he proceeded to just kick the door open and drag the unresisting Harry into the room.

"You," he said unceremoniously, pointing at his brother. "What did you do to him?" He pointed at the still swearing Harry as he continued to clutch his head with his hands.

George looked up. "What? Harry? What're you doing here?"

"Yeah," added Fred. "Didn't you go to Switzerland?"

Faster than anyone expected, Harry's head snapped up and paling rather rapidly he... well, he stared.

"Fred?" His voice cracked. "Bloody hell, George." He looked down at the toothpaste and brush still clutched in his hands. Part of his traitorous brain suggested he might as well give it a try. The rest of his mind suggested that, given his luck, he was likely to end up in a hallucination even worse than this one.

Still staring at Fred like he'd seen a ghost, he opened the tube of toothpaste with trembling hands. "Sorry. I know this is just a dream, but fucking hell. I just can't...I've no idea what George was thinking. I know he's been having a hard time, but _Merlin._" He shook his head. "_Fred." _Raising brush to teeth, he was seconds away from disappearing when a familiar voice sounded from the doorway.

"Harry? When did you get back from Switzerland?"

Harry pirouetted on the spot.

Mouth open, toothbrush less than an inch away from still dirty teeth, still clad in his clothes from the night before, he actually whimpered at the sight of his godfather standing in the open doorway, hair streaked with - _was that purple? -_ and sticking up like a freaking porcupine. His eyes travelled from the hair to the eyebrow piercing to the eyeliner to the tattoos to the _fucking platform boots_ and back to the familiar face.

"Sirius?" he asked faintly.

And then, well, he fainted.

Four people gazed at the body on the floor in complete and total bewilderment.

"What the hell is going on?"

* * *

_A/N_:_ Reviews are always welcome!  
_

_Louise.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Still not mine. Except the toothpaste bit. _

* * *

_In a dream that might not be a dream..._

Harry woke to the voices of dead people and what felt like a tube of toothpaste clutched tightly in one hand.

He opened his eyes.

He closed them again.

He took a deep breath, tried to remember that he was most definitely dreaming, and opened them again.

Five curious and confused faces stared back at him, including one that hadn't been there before.

"Remus? When did you turn up?"

"About 15 seconds after you fainted."

"I fainted? God, this is a lame dream."

Bill made a frustrated noise. "See? He thinks he's hallucinating. Keeps going on about how he's going to kill George. He acted like Ron was some kind of horrific monster. Something bloody weird is going on."

"Not Ron. Ron and Pansy. Although, Ron with ringlets? Bit strange." Harry shuddered.

Fred grinned at his twin. "He's got a point there. They are kind of monstrous together."

Fred ducked as Bill attempted to whack him in the head.

Remus rolled his eyes and hauled Harry up off the ground and onto a conjured chair.

"Right. Obviously something strange is going on here. You think you're hallucinating and it's George's fault. You're also supposed to be in Switzerland, last time I checked, you're wearing glasses, which you haven't done since you were thirteen and let's be honest, you're not really acting like the Harry we know. Maybe you could tell us exactly what you were doing before you landed in the Ministry Atrium in your pyjamas?"

Harry shrugged. "Fine. Might as well."

He leaned back in the chair, carefully avoiding looking at Sirius. He figured there was a fairly good possibility he might faint again if he did.

"I was at George's flat in Diagon Alley. We – me, George and Ron – had stayed the night there. I was in the bathroom looking for toothpaste. Asked George if I could use his, and I'd just started – Merlin this is stupid, I'm in a dream with a couple of bizarrely dressed dead people talking about brushing my teeth. I'd just started brushing my teeth when George burst through the door, said something about not using the red one, and then, _bam_, I'm being subjected to one of the most horrific things I've ever seen."

"Hmm." Remus looked thoughtful. "Can I see that, Harry?" he asked, pointing to the tube of toothpaste.

Harry handed it over to Remus who was careful not to let the paste touch his skin. "Sirius? What do you think?"

Harry carefully averted his eyes as his sort-of-dream godfather examined the innocuous looking tube. He sniffed it carefully. "Huh. I think...no...maybe...oi, George, have a look at this."

George looked.

His eyebrows went up.

He looked again.

He and Sirius started arguing furiously in barely audible whispers.

Remus looked on with amusement. Fred and Bill just looked confused.

"Right," the two of them straightened from their huddle. "We're going to go and look some things up at Grimmauld Place, but we think you might have crossed to an alternate dimension."

Harry jerked. "What?"

"Sorry, mate." And they were gone.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and made a face. He wondered if this incident would put him off brushing his teeth in the future.

Remus, Fred and Bill seemed to be at a bit of a loss in terms of what to do with the young man muttering to himself in the corner.

"Um. Harry? D'you want a drink or food or something?"

Harry looked up, startled. "Nah. I'd rather not, if it's ok."

"Sure."

"There's one thing you could do, although I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Go on."

"At the Ministry...that...Fudge...Umbridge..." Harry shuddered. "What the fuck was that about?"

All three wizards appeared to be warring with equal amounts of horror, fear and unbridled amusement.

"Ah," said Remus. "Well. It's kind of a long story."

Harry shrugged. "Apparently, I've got time."

"Right then. Well, it started years ago, after Voldemort was shot..."

Harry wasn't sure he'd heard that correctly. "Wait, what?"

"After Voldemort was shot?" Remus looked thoughtful. "Well, I guess that proves you're not our Harry."

"Voldemort was _shot?_ With a gun? Metal, bullets, _bam_ you're dead? That kind of shot?"

"Yep."

"Right. I've changed my mind. Tell me that story first."

Remus scratched his head. "There's not really much to tell. Dumbledore took care of Voldemort's protections against death while you were a kid, and when you came to Hogwarts there was that whole debacle thing with the Philosopher's stone and Sirius had been reading too many westerns and decided to teach you to shoot. The Order got wind of it, Dumbledore lured Voldemort into the open and you shot him."

Harry's expression could only be described as flabbergasted. "You just shot him?" he whispered. "It can't have been that easy. _Fuck_."

Shaking his head, he got a grip on himself. "Okay. You shot him. Can't believe it, but if you say so. How did you end up with Mr Lime-green-spandex and his minions of ugly?"

"Like I said, it started a little while after Voldemort was killed. He'd be thrown out of power you see, and he wasn't very happy about it. As far as we can tell, he came across some Muggle comic books somewhere. We don't think he actually _read _them, as he seems to have got the wrong idea about Muggle superheroes, but we do know that he somehow got the idea that costumes commanded respect and decided a cape and spandex was the best way to show the wizarding world he wasn't to be trifled with."

"Yeah. The first time he appeared in public like that, he had Umbridge dressed in a Wonderwoman outfit. You've no idea how many patients St. Mungo's had that day. I think some people even tried to obliviate themselves. And that never goes well."

'Yes, well. After the first couple of times he tried to carry out his plan, he became completely convinced that his costume had granted him super powers that 'struck fear and awe into the hearts of the populace'." Remus explained.

Fred snorted. "Yeah, because people started screaming and going catatonic in the street every time he showed up with Umbridge in tow. Do you know, when they started, they had a song and dance routine?" He shuddered. "It still gives me nightmares. The kicking and the shimmying...sweet Merlin. You've no idea."

Remus too, looked as if he'd swallowed something disgusting. He looked back at Harry. "Thus was born the Great and Magnificent Fudgeman."

Harry choked.

"The _what?_"

"We think the name came from more comic books. You know, Superman, Batman, Spiderman. Being the idiot he is, he figured just adding 'man' to his title was the thing to do."

"We're not sure where the glitter comes from. We think he just likes shiny things."

Harry finally got control of himself. "So, you're telling me, that the single greatest threat facing the wizarding world at the moment, is a disgruntled lunatic politician who, along with his two bizarre sidekicks, terrorizes the public with nudity and sparkles?

"Um. Yeah. Pretty much."

Harry started laughing. He couldn't help it. There may have been an element of hysteria helping him along.

"I'm going to kill him. When I get home, I'm going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully."

Fred and Remus looked at each other uncomfortably as Harry rested his head in his hands.

"What?" he said, glancing up at them.

Fred shrugged. "We're just not used to hearing you sound so..." he waved a hand. "You know. Scary."

"What?"

"Our Harry, he'd never say something like that. Even as a joke."

"Merlin, what kind of a person am I?"

Remus looked uncomfortable again. "You're...well, you're...nice. A bit shy. And kind of timid."

"Timid?"

"Yeah."

Harry looked at them, figuring he really didn't want to think about how a timid and _nice _version of himself had managed to take down Voldemort years earlier than he, himself had, _and_ managed to prevent the deaths of the people he loved. Sometimes, life just wasn't fair.

He closed his eyes, trying to minimise the way this whole situation was making his brain hurt.

A few moments passed in awkward silence, before Sirius and George returned with a bunch of books and the precious tube of toothpaste.

Harry avoided looking at Sirius, unable to reconcile the emotions that warred within him at the sight of his lost godfather looking like someone from a David Bowie movie. It was just too much.

"Right." George sat down next to Fred. "We think we've figured out what happened. I have to say that I appear to be a genius, in any dimension. That stuff," he pointed to the toothpaste "is bloody brilliant."

"Basically it creates a kind of wormhole in reality when it comes in contact with a specific surface – in this case, teeth – and sends whatever it's touching and everything attached through that wormhole to an alternate dimension."

Sirius jumped in here. "We think that it's probably designed to keep sending you forward through dimensions – you can't go back to the one you came from, you just have to keep going forward. There are theories which suggest that alternate realities exist as a series of concentric circles, all linked together. Different versions of the same world – created by every possible outcome of every choice and decision and circumstance within a certain part of a certain reality. All linked by some common factor."

Harry's look of confusion was mirrored by Fred.

Remus leaned forward. "Basically, what he's saying is that if you imagine a set of realities, all joined up in a circle, no matter how different they all were, there'd be something in each of them that existed in your own original dimension. For example, there'd always be magic. Or, if there was no magic, some of the people would be the same. Or have the same names. Always something that links to something else. A world where there was absolutely nothing recognisable to you would exist separately, in its own circle of alternate realities. Does that make sense?"

Harry grimaced. "Sort of. You're suggesting that the toothpaste is sending me from dimension to dimension in a circle that will eventually come back round to my world. So, what? I have to just keep brushing my teeth until I exhaust every possible dimension and get back to my own? What happens when I run out of toothpaste?"

"Well," said Sirius, sharing a glance with George. "sort of, yeah. Wait, wait," he hurriedly interjected as Harry started to groan. "We think you might be able to direct it, to a certain extent, so you can jump ahead more than one dimension at a time. Chances are, the longer you brush your teeth for – I mean, hold the brush to your teeth – the further you'll go."

"And, if your George is anything like me, he will have added something to the toothpaste that will make it hone back in on its original world. It just might take you a few jumps to get there."

Harry kept groaning. "So you're pretty much saying that you don't really have a clue and my best chance of getting home is to just keep brushing my teeth and see what happens?"

"Um. Yeah. Pretty much."

"Fan-bloody-tastic."

"Sorry, kiddo." Sirius looked sheepish. Which was no mean feat, dressed as he was.

Harry took the tube of toothpaste back from George's open hand. "Right then." He looked around the room. "Well, I can't say it hasn't been entertaining." He nodded in Fred's direction. "Nice to know you're still around somewhere, mate."

He gazed at his godfather. "Sirius...you...dress sense...oh never mind." He grinned suddenly. "Glad you're still here too."

Squeezing some toothpaste onto the brush, he glanced around the room. "Oh, and for fuck's sake, _someone_ stun the 'Fudgeman' and his demonic sidekicks the next time they see them. Just wear sunglasses or conjure a blanket over them or something. No reality needs that kind of horror."

And with one last wave he was gone, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of minty fresh air and a room full of still bemused individuals.

"Did anyone tell him Bill gave him a makeover while he was unconscious?"

* * *

_In a world that was both far and near..._

"What do you mean, he _should_ turn up again? Where the hell has he gone?"

* * *

_A_/_N: Turns out this is much easier to write than Never Underestimate a Hufflepuff. If anyone has any ideas for future situations Harry could find himself landing in, let me know?_

_As always, please review. _

_Louise.  
_


End file.
